Steve Roach has been on a fairly prolific streak over the last couple of years that has manifested itself in several incarnations, from deep drifts to back-to-the-begnning analog workouts. With such a spread—which is nothing new for Mr. Roach—there are a lot of familiar sounds and vistas in his canon, which is what makes the beginning of Etheric Imprints very interesting. It’s something we haven’t really heard before: Roach on piano. The first of the four long tracks that make up Etheric Imprints is 29 minutes of Roach playing and manipulating an electric grand piano in real time. Somber in tone and picked out slowly note by patient note, this title track grabs hold of the resonant sounds of each strike on the keys and weaves it into the shifting background. Roach uses this to lead us into a dark and quiet middle section that gives more space to the ambient tones, then lets the piano rise back up. It’s a lovely, shadow-filled and contemplative piece that deserves the attention it’s getting for its perceived deviation from standard Roach course. After the auspicious start, Etheric Imprints explores three other spaces with a stronger common tie to Roach’s expected sounds. But even at that, there are twists. “Indigo Shift” plays with dissonant tones tied into a dark, drifting wall of sound for an interesting, uneasy feel. There’s a very effective stretch just before mid-track, and repeated later, where these twisting rogue tones work against a set of rising pads; it becomes almost a kinetic thing, the two element pushing against each other with growing force. That sense of unease gets stronger here before Roach lets you relax. By comparison, “Holding Light” takes the listener upward, out toward spacemusic territory. I’m reminded of the big starscapes Roach explored in The Magnificent Void. Gentle power, a sense of range and scope, meditative beauty–all in this classic-ambient track. The balance of dark and light is completed on “The Way Forward” as it slowly pieces together a melodic line on swelling chords. Just as the title track worked its way through its story draped in greys and questions, this piece uses brighter tonal hues and a sense of certainty and optimism.

Much will be said of the piano on Etheric Imprints (and already has). It’s funny how a simple switch of approach garners so much discussion. Looking at the album as a whole, Roach once again balances his equation and puts forth a journey with a discernibly different start and finish. And although we begin in “new” territory and wind up in a familiar spot, it is that journey that matters. We go into Etheric Imprints looking to set aside an hour to explore and see, and that is exactly what Roach gives us, as usual.

Available from Steve Roach’s web site.

I am a mere four minutes in to Time Spinners, the one-long-track collaboration between Cousin Silas and the prolific Jack Hertz, and if these guys keep up the Floyd-worthy electro-psychedelia I already can’t get enough of, I am going to love them both forever.

I am twelve minutes in. I have been coasting on thick, sweet clouds of prog-rock exhalations. Cousin Silas has been coaxing cool lines out of his guitar, thick with the sexy curves of the wah-wah and sultry distortion. Hertz continues to redefine the atmosphere with big synth formations. Plus, he’s keeping the pulse steady on percussion. Although I’m no one’s idea of a musician, there was a point where it felt like the rhythms tripped over each other a bit. Right around the ten minute mark. Perhaps it’s a more complex thing than I’m used to, but it just briefly took me out. That moment has passed. We have continued. I am at peace with the flow.

I am twenty minutes in, and I may have stepped out of the consciousness once or twice. There has been nothing to disturb this groove. It’s still very, very Pink Floyd-ish, and that’s a magnificent thing. Cousin Silas has stepped back for a moment to let Hertz lay in some deep synth textures. It’s like the stuff that got me into electronic in the first place, wavering, shimmering lines of tone and high-arcing notes. That feeling of letting the sound pull you thin across the universe. Did I mention that the beat on drums is slow and steady and nicely underplayed? It’s just there like another heartbeat…

I am thirty minutes in and right now it’s all Hertz’s show. He’s laid down a bed of pads and now he’s soloing across it on keys. We have left Earth quite far behind, I am sure. Out here we are just drums and pads and cool. I have surrendered control, and I am happy about that. Ah, here comes Cousin Silas again and that guitar. Clearly, some form of space warp is distorting it. It is seeking out and bringing back thin echoes of “Careful With That Axe, Eugene.”

I am forty minutes in and my brain has pleasantly assumed the consistency of a delightful flan. If anyone has been paying attention, I may have levitated out of my chair at least once. The watery, wavering synths, the subtle beat, the small sounds, the way everything seems to reach for the horizon, the plaintive calls of that guitar…this really is quite the ride. Psychedelic and familiar, deep and soothing, yet still with the edge from those guitar riffs and noodlings. Did I mention the guitar?

I am coming to the end and I know I will be going back in. This blend of prog influences and very meditative flows is perfect. Right now, somewhere after the forty-five minute mark, Hertz is soloing again and I know the sound of the keyboard, it’s a very 60s pop organ sound, but instead of trying to figure out its name I’m just digging on it. The retro feel, they way he’s sliding the sound around my head, the way Silas is picking muted notes over it.

I am forty-nine minutes in out of fifty and I can say without a doubt that I do not want Time Spinners to end. As in, ever. One little click of the button here and I can just loop it, spin Time Spinners one more time. A single listen and I know it’s a personal favorite and probably one of the year’s best. Another few times through should solidify that. Here I go.

Available from Aural Films.

Three sets of live improvisations are served up on Astral Bridges, from collaborators Onewayness (Adam Holquist) and Modulator_ESP (Jez Creek). The term they use for this is “merged sets.” One artist opens each piece, playing solo. The other joins in for a stretch somewhere along the line and they perform as a duet, then the first artist slips out to let the second finish the piece. The music was recorded during four live performances in the fall of 2014. Holquist then compiled and edited the live songs to create these three tracks, which are gently massaged together to create an hour-long set. And believe me, it runs deep. I looked at my iTunes a while into my review listens and saw that I had rolled through this disc more than 10 times–and each time, I was glad to head into it again. If you’re not into a dark feel, the beginning of “Bridge_1” may put you off, which would be a shame. The hard-edged electro-snarls, industrial touches, and serpentine utterances that fill the first few minutes give way to softer pads and a broader, spacier dimension. As the sound spreads out, you take in more of the small detail work that shows throughout this release. Piano and field recording make in interesting incursion into the flow, just one of many sonic surprises in store. After 2o excellent minutes, we are ushered into “Bridge_2,” which is probably my favorite of the three. From the start we are welcomed into what’s pretty much a Berlin School homage. Square-angled sequencer forms immediately build around us, and in time we are given that ever-present flute-like sound to carry a melody. The sequencer has that slightly distorted sound at the edges that makes it feel so sci-fi, and the whole thing is rounded out with absolutely classic choral pads. This is pure 70s electro-goodness, and I fucking love it. When the changeover comes on this one, we shift from that Berlin tone to more of an early analog sound, a desperate Morse Code of rapid tones in a hurried, hypnotic rush. What doesn’t work for me here, and the only thing, really, is that late in the track I get jolted out of my reverie by an assault from big metallic clatters, like someone hammering on a muted gong. As many times as I’ve listened to the track, I know that the sound is foreshadowed early on, but when it gets more aggressively present later…well, as much as I’ve come to accept its presence, let’s call it my least favorite few minutes here. Feels a bit too “let’s get experimental” for me. “Bridge_3” bring us back to those shadowy places full of skittering sounds, but again opens up. The round tones of an electric piano show up, along with a melody on a flute analogue. Bright sequencer lines return as well, trading space with chimes, and over time the piece winds down to a dark and quiet place with a feel approaching stillness. Small sounds outline slow-moving chords to create the sensation of a somewhat uncomfortable dream. It fades out on a rising note, reaching for something you won’t get to before you wake.

Astral Bridges seems to offer something new to hear each time through. The chemistry between Creek and Holquist is seamless, and it shows in how smoothly the changeovers are handled. The only way to tell one artist’s contribution from the other is that, if I am guessing correctly, Creek’s work tends to involve the darker, harder sounds, with Holquist’s offerings tending more toward the ambient and melodic. Even at that, with the exception noted above, no new sound or idea is at all jarring to the flow. The pieces evolve logically and beautifully, and in each long stretch we get a solid array of tone and sensation. There is darkness and energy and contemplation and the sense of discovery as new sounds find birth. An excellent set of rich electronic music from two very talented collaborators.

Available from Ethereal Live.

 

 

Troubled Mystic is a deck of musical cards, each one its own kind of cool. Overall the tone cleaves closely to an EDM/downtempo motif. You’ll hear distinct elements of house music, jazz-infused drum licks, a touch of glitch, and club-worthy drops. Right from the opener, “A Love Song for Ghosts,” Liminal Drifter (aka Dr. Simon Order) grabs the listener by managing to mix a jangly sound like a Japanese biwa with a little bit of spy-movie vibe and making it sound like it all belongs there. The mix of styles shows when “Subway Dream” follows with a watery burble and soft, cool edges. This one gets deeper and more intense as it goes along, the sound thickening up with a wide variety of elements. “Verterons Ambo Flow Cut” introduces some electronic minimalism, loops of repeating phrases interspersed with sequencer. Its slowly shifting, just-enough-movement dynamic works in its favor. Hypnotic and yet able to hold your direct interest. “Japanese Devotion” is a bit of playful weirdness. Boppy notes bounce along, accented with reverse-echo phrases that put me in mind of the 80s band New Musik. (Yes, I may be very much alone in that reference.) Speaking of the past, “Adventures Beyond the Body” will pique your old IDM memory banks. Field recordings and dubbed-up vocal snips are the canvas for a melody that plays out in metallic-spring tones and shiny sequencer runs. Irresistible stuff. Throughout the album you’ll enjoy an extra dose of mellow courtesy of dreampop vocalist Chloë March. Her smoked-satin voice slides and glides through the club-ready “Heartbeat of Your Soul.” Order wraps her voice in light, effective echoes and puts drops in spots where the last element you get is her voice fading. She sing-talks her way through the title track and pulls up welcome thoughts of Moorcheeba. Again, Order pulls spots and phrases out of the main vocals and uses them the spice the background. There have been times, in my several listens, when I become too aware of the looping/repeating motif that forms the basis for much of the work here. Why it occurs to me sometimes but not every time is a mystery to me. All I can suggest is that sometimes I’m drawn more into the smooth hypnotic lull, which is the point after all. It certainly hasn’t kept me from digging on this release every time I’ve listened. It’s varied enough to hold my interest and certainly doesn’t lack for cool. The production work is also excellent; the sound is full and in constant motion, with plenty of small detail work to keep your head happily busy. Get this, get cool.

Available from Hidden Shoal.

 

I feel that I can condense my review of Ambient Space – Star Diffusion down to a somewhat indifferent shrug. Klaus Lofgren pages through the spacemusic handbook as he constructs sounds and scenes on his synthesizers, but through the course of 20 tracks never seems interested in applying any power or emotion to the work. Many of the tracks feel very thin, holding a chord, letting it fade, holding the next chord, occasionally lacing in some analog twiddle for texture. There’s nothing particularly objectionable about it, it’s just that it never gives me a solid reason to listen. Where most spacemusic strives to take us directly into the heart of a star or the deep reaches of cold space and make us feel it, Lofgren shows us a photo and considers it enough.

It’s not enough for me.

Available from Paraflux.

Offering up three and a half hours of drones, Seconds Before Awakening’s Thirteen is clearly meant for quiet, long-term listening. (On the album’s archive.org page, it clearly says, “Play, listen, fall asleep & dream.”) Artist Mike Waller pulls his sounds out to great lengths in these six tracks, letting many of them go on in their light layers, but also knows when to make them rear up a bit to get your attention. Thirteen does what Waller wants it to, and it does so in waves of warm drones. There’s no real deviation from course for this long piece, just subtle shifts of dynamic. Toward the end of Part Three and into the beginning of Part Four, there’s a gentle rise in intensity and a stronger spacemusic overtone to the flow. (You can check my timing: I’m somewhere between an hour-forty and two hours in at this stage, and I may have stepped out of the body for a moment or two.) Unlike the pieces before and after it, Part Four goes on to lift a bit out of the hush to show a melodic side. It plays out without disturbing the overall feel, just single notes looping and peaking in the flow and adding a new texture. Parts Five and Six retain a level of intensity, conveyed through strong, low tones in lightly swelling waveforms and somewhat more roughened edges in spots. (I’m not sure these passages work as a sleep aid, but give it a shot.)

Thirteen turned out to offer far more than I expected when I started out on its marathon. The lulling spaces of the early tracks unfold into richer, more varied elements as time (slowly) passes, and I like that Waller does not succumb to the sometimes perceived need to break up long stretches like these with attention-getting bursts that only serve to pull a listener out of the experience. As Thirteen moves along, its changes of tone arrive as welcome surprises that we simply accept as the next part of the journey. This is not the album you’re going to sit down and listen to; it’s the album you’ll start and then go about your business, conscious or not. However you choose to experience Thirteen, you will be affected by it—but quietly so.

Available at Archive.org.

As I was settling in with the indie-rock flavored, guitar-based tunes on Gustaf Fjelstrom’s Intention, I popped over to his site. There it says that Fjelstrom plays bass and synths. Then it lists two drummers and a vocalist. And I thought, hold on, where is all this shiny, melodic guitar coming from? Because if it’s all synth, I’m ready to hand out the award for Best Impersonation of One Instrument By Another. That, or he’s got a bass with high strings or he’s playing that sucker way up the neck. Intention is 41 minutes of catchy, glittering rock instrumentals with a tasty gloss of ambient and electronic lightly spread over it. The album starts off a bit slowly, but please be patient. The first track, “Intention,” spends five of its six minutes in a blend of airy washes, light percussion, and wordless vocals. It’s reasonably interesting, if a bit on the repetitive side, and to be honest, my mind wandered off—until Fjelstrom lit the fuse on his bass and the thing exploded (for a minute and a half) into an energetic song. Downside being, the really good part was over quickly. From there, however, the ride becomes filled with laid-back rhythms, catchy melodic lines, and the occasional foray into driftier spaces. This is never more true than on “Spectrum.” While keys pulse and waver, the drums snap out a cool lounge beat and more of Cathryn Talbert’s straight-from-a-dream vocals float through the background. A great chill-style tune. “Incantation” offers a folksy edge and a sweetly lilting melody on synth. Clean and upbeat, it feels like a bit of a guilty pleasure. “Autonomy” features an excellent build-up of sound that leads us to a cliff-face drop and a break where Fjelstrom’s muscular bass leads the way. It’s another dose of musical optimism that gets your head nodding. The final track, “Trajectory,” steers us into melodic spacemusic territory with sci-fi movie keys, radar-blip textures, and a song that plays out very patiently.

While I do enjoy Intention quite a bit, there tends to be a bit of a similarity of tone, track to track. For that reason, I like it melted into a larger shuffle. Fjelstrom’s clean, bright sounds and strong mixing hand really shine through that way—there’s no regard for feeling like you’ve just heard that song. My only other detraction, one that has honestly faded over repeat listens, is that although the album notes mention that Nick Grant and Brad Bjuman provide drum work, it often comes off like the tinny, too-rigid sound of programmed drums. I was surprised to find there were humans behind it. Several listens down the road, however, they feel less out of place. Overall, the detail work is excellent, the vibe is strong post-rock, and I just have to know where those damn guitar sounds are coming from. Perhaps I’ll figure it out when I listen to Intention some more.

Available from the artist’s web site, botched.com.

There are benchmarks against which any tribal/ethno-ambient album will inevitably be judged. You know the names, you know the common sounds and tones. Here’s the didge, here are the drums, here are the shakers and chants. There’s no need to go into the comparisons. The standard for this kind of work should instead be, “How far down into my primal/ritual self does this album take me?” For me, the answer with Blood Moon is: pretty far. Frore (aka Paul Casper) and Shane Morris do a great job of balancing off the things you’ve come to expect in a tribal release with deep ambient atmospherics, giving us a blend of ritualistic rhythmics and check-your-breathing meditative patches. Where this album really shows it strength is in the attention to minute details, the small sounds that create dimension, texture and inner vision. It’s that aspect that creates the strongest sense of immersion. Several points firmly catch my attention and cut through my usual tribal-loving rapture. “Orison” goes deep with a humming drone wavering its way across a mix of ambient washes and a slowly rising batch of drums. Just before the 4-minute mark, flute drops in to turn it into a slow and sensual dance. Balance again is key here, with everything kept at about the same level, which succeeds in throwing a kind of incense-haze veil around the music. Just slightly distant but very effective, it has a dreamy quality to it. Excellent didge work highlights “Unfolding.” Churning up perhaps the strongest of the influential references, it’s a deep flow with big ambient pads and the cool twang of a stringed instrument I can’t identify—but I know I love it sound and texture. “Night Rapture” is 16 minutes of curling-smoke washes, hypnotic percussion, and pure atmosphere. Breathy flute pushes through like a phantom wind to nudge your mind out of its reverie. This piece retains an edge of darkness and the repetitive churn of ritual as it draws you in. You could just loop this track for a while and your primal self would thank you.

Blood Moon is a strong addition to the overall tribal and ethno-ambient canon. It will slot in alongside your personal favorites. Capser and Morris have very good chemistry; they are strong tribalists on their own, and this joining of their powers results in a rock-solid release sure to please tribal fans.

Available from Spotted Peccary.

A quick story about how first impressions matter. To me, anyway. When I opened the envelope containing Tedd Arnold’s Ghostchild, the first thing I saw was a round sticker on the CD case that read, “Listen! They sound like stories!” And I immediately thought, “Oh, great. An artist who feels the need to over-explain his work.” This, to me, does not bode well. To me, it’s the sign of a lack of confidence in your work, a safeguard against the negative or “I don’t get it” opinion. Good news, Mr. Arnold—there’s no need to over-explain. Ghostchild is a fairly engaging album built on a crossover mix of old-school sequencer work, New Age dramatics, and—yes—a pleasant sense of narrative. It’s a bit of a hit and miss for me because it can dwell too much in heard-it-before New Age tropes and dramatics for my listening tastes, but in the places where Arnold’s work strongly catches my attention it holds me fast. The opening track, “Apparition,” is one of those places. A quick repeating bass line, sparkling sequencer notes and some interesting manipulated background sounds form its basis, delivering energy and tension. “Returning” has me when Arnold breaks into a sound between overamped flute and distorted rock guitar and just cranks the energy levels. I get hooked into the big chords and “We Will Rock You” drum line of “I Know You Can Hear Me.” Choral pads, the ol’ New Age standby, are used well here, particularly in a break about halfway through. Little bit of creepiness works in at the end, effectively. “Spirit Guide” moves in an appropriately ghostly fashion, the background washed through with atmospheric whispers. Bass strings play an elegy, and as the piece goes along, it fully conveys the sense of a journey, of following. “DeNovo” announces the end of the disc with a burst of rough energy that then settles into a pulsing rhythm blended with world music flavors. Great electronic treatments in here, with sweeping sounds and vocoder’d voice taking on a didge-like tone. (Though my vote is still out on whether the sudden drop-off at the end works. I get it, but it leaves a slight unfinished taste.) Arnold’s stories are short. Most tracks flit by in two to four minutes. He does a fine job of laying down an easy through-line without any real leaps of tone, but the brevity often means a piece takes its bow just as it’s reaching a point of fullness and potential. When he gives himself more space, as with “Returning” and “Spirit Guide,” he avoids that feeling and provides a more satisfying ride.

Listeners who are more into a classic New Age sound than I will probably enjoy Ghostchild more than I did. There are definitely strong pieces on here, and Arnold understands how to lay in emotion and drama. (Yes, and make things sound like stories.) Too light for me in places but absolutely ear-catching in others, Ghostchild is worth a listen.

Available at CD Baby.

 

 

I think that the term “post-rock” tends to be overused sometimes in reference to melodic instrumental music with an edge—as if tossing vocals into the mix would let the piece shed its “post” manacles and just be rock. Aftermath from Stratosphere (aka Ronald Mariën) would certainly fall into that category. But if this is rock, it is rock at a slowed tempo, pulled into a soporific laze, like a patch of sun moving across the floor late in the afternoon, and occasionally shaken up with jagged lines. The guitars come in big layers here, piled into humming strata in varying degrees of distortion and texture. Singular elements, phrases just a note or two long, quiety assert themselves in loops against the droning atmospheres. Overall, the feel is warm and calm. Lush chords fill the air, gentle pick-sweeps across the body to send the notes shimmering off. That begins right in the early moments of “Accepting the Aftermath,” and forms a major part of the album’s sonic palette. In places, as on “The Search for Normality (Reprise),” Mariën brings in the sound of bowed strings. It adds a light orchestral tone and a pulsing rhythm to play against the washes. There is also gritty energy here. Toothy distortion spews off the guitar in “The Search for Normality” (not to be confused with its reprise!). It feels like Mariën is twisting his axe’s neck to wring the notes out of it, the resultant throttled noise buzzing in our ears. (You, like me, may find yourself checking your media player at the end of this track. I’ll leave you to see why.) “Confusion” changes the feel, entering on tapped notes that bounce back and forth and showing a certain tension at play in the harmonies and in the way the washes rise and shift, everything grabbing hold of the emotional power of minor chords. The closing track, “When You Think Everything Is Alright,” is surprisingly bright. Not that everything else is gloomy, but there’s an optimism in its voice that caught me a little off guard when I first heard it—and which I came to look forward to in later listens. The melody is very strong here, elements coming together in a sing-along tone and everything simply shining. Some might call it post-rock, but by the generalities of that term and the way this piece feels, I’d lean more toward post-folk. It’s homey and welcoming, then makes an effortless shift back toward distortion to create a great closing vignette for this hour-long ride.

Aftermath is an excellent looping album. Where it slips into more ambient spaces, it’s quiet and unassumingly pleasant. When it raises its voice, you pay attention. The underplayed melodies and rhythms are crammed full of hooks. You may hum along, and you’ll definitely find yourself moving to it. I’ve truly enjoyed the several hours I’ve spent inside the sound here. An excellent, deep-listen-worthy release from Stratosphere.

Available from Projekt.